A Date to Be Remembered
by Sumiregawa Nenene
Summary: [Otome Zwei AU] Nina is making a trip, on a special date, for a special reason.


_Author's Notes:_

Huh. Okay, so this is part one of three. I started writing this about the time Zwei episode one came out, though the time line is obviously completely different, so I'm not sure how it happened. Maybe it was seeing Nina so angst-ball at the very end...

This is actually a special preview. This will eventually be posted to the LJ community shoujoai100 for my Mai-Otome claim when it is complete.

Big hurrah, thank you and icecream cones ( #) to beta Veggie, er I mean, Vega62a.

_**Part I.**_

The truth is, I'm pretty terrible at remembering dates.

Well, that's not entirely true. It was more that everything seems to pale in comparison to my birthday; what he made my birthday. I'm really not sure he ever thought much more beyond the fact that it was the time he had for leave, but to me, that was still the greatest honor that I could be given. Like a soldier getting a medal, or a dog getting a collar and license. It meant I was recognized as existing, in a way.

I guess the problem is that I never wanted to see past that. Living in poverty when I was younger had taught me well that tenacity and wile got you where you needed to be; strength and intelligence were only enhancements. Who could they have chosen better to become their perfect soldier? Grand Duke Nagi was not as dim as his age might imply.

Appearances are deceiving, certainly. That's what this world is based on. Where orphans become maids that turn into super soldiers, where children are maniacal, ruthless dictators, and where students become pawns of war in the blink of an eye. I'm very tired of all of it, actually.

Just like I'm tired of everything back here in Artai. It's always snowing, people here are of shorter temper than in Wind Bloom, and for the most part, every building here reeks of alcohol; even the thick-furred beasts of burden that travel the roads try to cover it up with the scent of their dung at every opportunity. That stinks also, and mixes with the snow and sludge, generally making an awful mess. But someone only comes out once every few days to clear the streets; there's never much point to clearing what is covered up again in a few hours. As I'm becoming older I'm starting to realize that no one really lives in this country by choice, which also accounts for their foul tempers.

The weather also makes finding flowers a ridiculous task, you know.

( ")(" )( ")(" )( ")(" )

The woman eyed my warm, fur-trimmed coat shrewdly. "Six silver dukes. No less."

I sighed, shrugging my messenger bag into a better position to reach into. I fetched the amount slowly, letting the metal chink from one gloved hand to the other, the silver color glittering against the low lantern light of the shop. Fresh flowers really are rare here, but the hawk-faced bat was still charging me nearly twice over what they were worth. I placed the coins on the wooden counter, palm down over them. "Six silvers," I said quietly, but pointedly.

Her eyes seemed much less shrewd now, and much more opportunistic. After looking back and forth between my hand and my face a few times, her better judgment won out, and she went to wrap the flowers first. They were snipped, de-thorned, wrapped and tossed in a box in record time. She even put a bow on it. The thought made me chuckle to myself briefly as she returned with it, brandishing it like she was handing me the hilt of a sword.

Whether she thought it strange that I laughed, I don't really know. Her attention focused now back between the box and my still over-turned palm. I reached out and took the box with my left hand, reverently moving to support it with my right; a complete contrast to the patch-coated middle-aged woman before me, who snatched the money as soon as it became available.

I felt a self-satisfied warmth spread through my stomach as I tucked the box underneath my left arm to carry. I faced the older woman and graced her with a small smile, though her attention remained where it had been this entire time. "Thank you."

Her face turned up quickly. "Yes, yes dear. You're welcome." She was already moving to the back of the store to stash away the earnings.

I shook my head and made my way to the exit. Over the ringing of the bell above the door as it shut, I heard her call out, "You come again!" cheerily. I didn't acknowledge it or turn around. I knew that I'd be here next year, too.

People don't really buy fresh flowers often either; almost always it's for the same annual purpose.

( ")(" )( ")(" )( ")(" )

The train attendant yawned into my face rudely as I boarded. Most likely, he'd either been through the late-night shift, or his day was just starting. The sun was, after all, just coming up over the mountainous horizon. Maybe in a different time or place I would have said something to him. Instead, I drug my small-overnight, wheeled suitcase behind me and lifted it deftly into the compartment above one of the seats.

There was an older woman that was in the seat across the aisle who stared at me after I did so. Suddenly self-conscious, I looked myself over to make sure everything seemed in order. It was.

I had a thought to make a strange face back at the lady, but my training from Garderobe had taught me better than that. My mouth opened as I looked to her. "Is something..."

I heard my voice trail off in my own ears as it suddenly hit me. I shifted the long, ribboned box from underneath my left arm awkwardly to settle into both hands. I closed my mouth quickly, and plopped down into my seat. The fur of my coat felt soft against my cheeks as I hunkered down to hide myself. I had just lifted an obviously heavy suitcase with one arm into that compartment.

Exhaling a breath harshly that I wasn't even aware I'd been holding until that point, I tried to relax as the train jumped to a start. My eyes found some comfort to study the back of the seat in front of me, skimming and scanning as though to memorize every bit of it, though they weren't actually processing much of anything. I closed them after a moment and tried to regulate my mind. The nano-machines were still there, and while it was fine to use around the home, the power they provided wasn't exactly something I wanted to go flaunting about.

My mind settled reasonably fast, and I opened my eyes again to find them immediately on the ribbon. Moving of their own volition, my hands removed the gloves covering them. Even the ribbon was cold and at first it shocked my fingertips. Within a few strokes, however, the material felt as glossy and slick as it was supposed to be. It's a royal blue color; I think you would probably like it.

I nearly jumped out of my skin with shock when I felt something jab into my arm roughly. I peeked up from around the collar of my coat to find the old woman across the aisle with a cane in hand, poised to poke again in case the first time hadn't worked. I admit I became a bit self-righteous, and it probably showed in my tone. "What is it?"

The old woman's eyes were huge, round, and unblinking. It made me shiver internally. "You're one of them, aren't you?" her voice finally ground out; it sounded like so many small stones being crushed by a millstone. She'd probably had one too many bottles of whiskey in her lifetime.

"Excuse me?" the dangerous edge was still present.

"One of _them_," she whispered conspiratorially. Her body looked like it would be cut in half if she leaned over any further across the armrest. "An_Otome_."

I immediately took back what I had thought about the whiskey. It was obviously vodka, if her breath was any indication. I faced forward again, but this time didn't try to hide my head. "I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about."

In my peripheral vision, I caught a glint in the old woman's eyes and a smile that no doubt showed off her wrinkles. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, I busied my hands with stroking against the ribbon once more. It was comforting in an inexplicable sort of way. This time, I really did jump.

"And what is in there?" the gravely voice came from directly beside my ear. How the old crone had managed to make her way to the seat behind me, sit down and lean so far forward without my noticing was beyond me at the time.

Considering my options, I decided to just go with the response my gut told me to give. "A gift for a friend."

I noticed her flicking her eyes back and forth between my face and that box dubiously. I paid it no heed after a few rounds, and turned back to settle in my seat, back-straight, as one should.

That's okay. People can think what they want, and I'll always know it's the truth.

( ")(" )( ")(" )( ")(" )

I don't really remember falling asleep. The ride itself really isn't that long; four and a quarter hours, and that's with the stops in customs as you cut through a corner of Cardair before you reach Wind Bloom proper, but you would probably know that already. I guess I could blame it on the fact that I hadn't any sleep the night before and had awoken so very early, but again, as we were taught, in the end it was my own fault. But that night was so long, and I couldn't help but fill it with thoughts of you, knowing what I would be doing that day. It seemed almost a crime not to.

The overly warm sensation is probably what brought me to first. The coat was designed to trap heat and radiate it back at the wearer, which was perfectly fine for Artai. But here in Wind Bloom -- the softly rolling green and patchy light-brown hills told me I had arrived -- it was downright hot. The floating sense of waking up in an environment far too warm faded quickly, and I shed the coat soon after. I could only be thankful that I wasn't coming from the western side of Artai; it most certainly would not have been fun to ride through the desert with this thing on.

Secondly, a drawn-out growl that I assumed was a snore -- though it was loud enough to wake all of Garderobe -- came from behind me. I'd already extracted myself from my coat, putting my already-shed gloves inside the pockets, but the snoring was what really woke me up. I rubbed at the corner of my eye to extract a particularly insistent sleeper, but made a small cry while doing so. The ribbon had been partially crushed as I had been resting.

This in turn woke the old woman behind me. I don't think I could have been any more glad when the metallic-sounding voice came over the speaker: "Five minutes time to reach Wind Bloom Station, North Main. Please try to remain seated until the shuttle has come to a complete stop."

The older woman, naturally, ignored this warning entirely and hobbled back to the seat across the aisle, where she'd been initially. Ostensibly she seemed to be gathering some things together, but to be honest, I'd never seen her take anything out to begin with. I paid her no mind and fussed for a couple of fruitless moments with the ribbon, before turning my attention instead to the window.

Reaching was a bit hard, but I placed my fingers along the rim below the glass and leaned to get a better look, careful not to jostle the package in my lap. The buildings loomed tall and brightly colored; it's such a different feeling than from Artai, where they stay either grey or brown to match the surroundings, and where the hovel sizes are simply more feasible technology-wise than in an advanced city like Wind Bloom. It's actually refreshing. I realized with a slight pang how much I'd really missed this city, overly-grandiose as it seemed to most other visitors.

The brakes of the train went off with a tell-tale high-pitched squeal. Of course, the shuttle itself did not actually stop for a good while, but such is the nature of trains. I ground my teeth impatiently until we came to a stop. I've never done well with high-pitched sounds. The moment it happened, and the entire car jumped to a halt, I stood and retrieved my suitcase, this time with both hands. I wasn't going to be caught twice in the same day making the same mistake.

The sheltered tunnel hummed with the reverberations the train made as I exited. It was still incredibly worn even today. Mashiro had learned much about politics in the past year, I'm sure, but her priorities seemed just as jumbled into those politics. Her castle had been reconstructed, but this tunnel that had been destroyed by Smith's massive weapon had only been made serviceable. The walls and walkways were kept clean, but scorch marks stood evident against any cleaning on both. The walls themselves had simply been repaired wherever possible; the filler color of concrete was obvious against the color of the original.

And just as I went to think, _Even the walkways are cracked in places still_, I tripped over one. I hadn't much of a choice about it either. I fell hard to my left and in a desperate attempt to save the package any damage, I trapped it quickly under my arm, allowing it to take the brunt of the impact.

I grunted more harshly a moment later when I realized that the box had been damaged badly despite my efforts. A corner of it had been battered in, and it was flushed to one side so that its contents were obvious enough to most any passerby. The ribbon still tried to cling tenaciously to both halves, but the jerk had left its knot in a state that rendered it useless to try to untie again. Punching the ground solidly with my good fist in frustration, I took small comfort in the piece of gravel that was pressing into my forehead.

As I opened my eyes a moment later, I found with a chill that I recognized the shoes of the person standing before me. Or perhaps it was the cane that gave her away. "Do you need help up?" I tracked back up to her eyes; they reflected with sympathy and a small sadness that wasn't quite that. Did she think she knew me? I was never one to accept pity; the streets had shown me that pity was never a full-fledged honest feeling. There was always some sort of underlying motive, such as making one feel better for themselves, even if it was only underneath the surface.

"I'll be fine," I muttered, my breath leaving my lungs even as I tried to struggle back onto my legs.

By the time I'd regained by balance, the older woman had already collected the box from the ground. She didn't look at me at all, just at the flowers inside. After what seemed like a few very strained moments she handed the box back to me, in what was going to be the best order the poor thing could get. She heaved a large breath and said, "I'm sure your friend will know it's the thought that counts."

She looked to me again with those pitiful eyes. I bristled slightly without thinking about it. And now she acted like she knows what I'm going through?

She touched my good arm briefly. "Real friends know that," she said after another moment.

I was generally inconsolable by that point. That she would assume she knew _you_ angered me most of all. Of all the annoying, nosy, insensitive...

And without another word, that old woman turned on her heel, and a flash appeared from underneath her hair along the side of her head. By her ear... an earring. It startled me to pause in all those tyrannical thoughts. She had been one, I supposed. Being around Miss Maria's age meant that she had likely seen more than even I had. _The Twelve Kingdoms War_. I sobered quickly, and my arm stung me as if in punishment.

Grabbing at the handle of my rolling suitcase with the same arm my package was now under, I walked numbly into the first aide at the station, near the tollbooth. The doctor of course took only a cursory look at it with a few tools, and then told me blandly there was not a thing wrong with it. Even so, it throbbed in a reminding way when I went to exit into Wind Bloom itself.

The bustle of the city around me at the dawning edge of lunchtime didn't effect me. I was still hung up over that old woman. She had reminded me eerily of a certain someone, someone who was not Miss Maria.

Someone I found myself desperately wanting to meet, and at the same time not to meet at all, on that day.


End file.
